


center of attention (whatever you want from me)

by serpentineshadows



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, POV Akaashi Keiji, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Time Skip, during time skip, i am struggling to tag this but pretty much: pre canon all the way to the last chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentineshadows/pseuds/serpentineshadows
Summary: Bokuto is a black hole, and Akaashi is helpless against his pull.Or: Akaashi and Bokuto, throughout the years.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Fukuroudani Volleyball Club, Akaashi Keiji & Kozume Kenma, Akaashi Keiji & Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 12
Kudos: 90





	center of attention (whatever you want from me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [memecity2000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memecity2000/gifts).



> a belated birthday fic for my friend! (she was open to pretty much anything, the haikyuu manga just recently ended, she likes bokuaka, and i had FEELINGS about the 'ordinary ace' line, hence this _really_ self indulgent monster)
> 
> warnings and other things to note: 
>   * there is a scene w/ mild? **underage drinking** , so if that makes you uncomfortable, it starts with "being a third year and captain..." and you can just skip to "Akaashi has trouble..."
>   * there's also **manga spoilers** in case you didn't check the tags (& some lines are taken straight from canon), but I also did take some liberties w/ canon (re: the fact that there is not just one big training camp)
>   * there might be inaccuracies related to Japanese school/work life, but I tried my best w/ some research, so if references confuse you, I (should) have explanations in the **end notes**!!
>   * Oh, and also, lots of honorifics + extreme cheese/sappiness when it gets Romance
> 

> 
> and if none of that bothers you, enjoy!!

Akaashi is eating lunch by himself in his classroom, contemplating which high school he should go to. The clouds are hovering lazily, the sky itself a brilliant blue. One of his teammates said, shortly after practice, “I think you should totally go to Fukurodani! But if you’re really unsure, just go to both and check them out.” It’s sound advice. He should probably go to Fukurodani first since he’ll have to go out of his way to get there; Suzumeoka is certainly more convenient, location-wise: on the way home, and closer.

The door to the classroom slams open, which makes Akaashi drop his food and tear his eyes away from the window. The buzz of conversations around him quiet down, like the girl standing in the doorway has sliced away all sound just by appearing. Then, she marches her way into the room, and the conversations return with a fervor, but they’re hushed whispers this time.

She stops in front of Akaashi, which is tiringly familiar. Her stern expression, steeled, now softens, her cheeks bright red. Her voice is strong and crystal clear, considering everyone else is whispering, as she slams a gift down on Akaashi’s desk, narrowly missing his food.

“Akaashi Keiji, I love you!” That’s somewhat new; they usually don’t jump to _love._ “Please go out with me.” This is also new, the fact that she doesn’t go running out of the classroom, leaving Akaashi at a loss for what to do. But this is equally uncomfortable because she’s waiting for a response, which is inevitably:

“I’m sorry, I can’t return your feelings,” he says as quietly as possible, but his classmates can probably hear everything anyway.

He hands her back her gift, but she shakes her head. “Keep it.” Her voice is still steady, but her face is fire-engine red now. She chooses to walk out of her classroom, her steps measured and her head held high, daring anyone to say anything. They don’t, of course, until the door closes behind her, slamming shut with a certain finality to it.

“Akaashi!” one of his more obnoxious classmates yells, then proceeds to invade his personal space. He receives a firm clap on the back. “You’re such a heartbreaker, man! You just shut her down, like that! Couldn’t you have given her a chance?”

“I suppose,” Akaashi says, hoping that will make his classmate leave, satisfied now. He doesn’t even know her name. That’s probably a prerequisite, to dating.

He points at the gift, with its pretty pink wrapping, undeterred. “Wonder what’s in there. You gonna open it now? I bet it’s—” 

Thankfully, the teacher appears before his classmate can say anything else, demanding that everyone settle down. There are still whispers, about Akaashi’s latest confession-and-rejection, but it’s only exciting for a while: nothing particularly new, after all.

What is new is that Akaashi is left with a gift, its contents a mystery and its presence a heavy weight on his mind, echoing _Akaashi Keiji, I love you._

It sits in his mind all throughout practice. His performance is largely unaffected because their team is nothing special, of a middling level; they perfunctorily play a practice match, where nothing surprising, nothing unexpected, happens. He thinks, with 80% of his mind, about his teammates, about the best plays, about where the ball is and where it will go; the other 20% is still in the classroom, frozen in front of a girl who’s essentially a stranger, being confessed to.

“Were you a little off today?” one of his teammates asks, after practice.

Akaashi shrugs. “A little.”

(There is no rebuke, no push to always put his all into practice, not even a “do better next time.” There is no _drive_ here.)

And so, the gift sits heavy in his bag as he heads home, and even as he eats dinner with his parents. It’s only after he’s done eating, his bowl washed and dried, that he heads up to his room and takes out the gift.

Akaashi peels off the wrapping paper and sets it aside, a whole sheet with firm lines from where it was folded. The box itself is a deep purple, and inside sits a rose. The petals and leaves are made of glass, shining iridescently, and the stem golden. 

It’s not at all what he expected.

Akaashi lifts it out of the box and stares, enchanted by how it glitters under his lamp light.

It’s breathtaking, how there’s a universe frozen inside the rose petals, and his heart hurts a little bit, realizing he can only vaguely recall what the girl looked like. He remembers her confidence, her prideful march, and nothing else, save for this rose.

And, Akaashi notices, once he tears his eyes away from the rose, there’s a letter in the box as well.

_Akaashi Keiji,_

_Before we graduated and parted ways, I wanted you to know that I loved you. I knew you’d reject me, but I saw this and thought of you. I hope you like it, even though you don’t return my feelings._

Akaashi’s mother is sitting in front of the TV, watching nothing in particular, as his father is in the kitchen, preparing lunch for tomorrow when Akaashi comes down, having finished his homework for the day. He sits on the couch next to her and hesitates, looking in the direction of the kitchen.

Then, “How do you know when you’re in love?”

His mother turns to him, bemused, and Akaashi is filled with regret until she says, “I don’t know. Where is this coming from?” There must be something in his expression, in the natural frown that forms, because she laughs. “Okay, okay. Love.” Her eyes stray towards the kitchen. “It’s like, when you can’t stop thinking about them. When they’re happy, you’re happy. When they’re sad, you’re sad. Things like that.”

That’s a better answer, but not the answer he’s looking for. “If you’re strangers, then you wouldn’t know all these things.”

“Well, maybe you think they’re attractive.” Before Akaashi can interject, she steamrolls on, unbothered. “It doesn’t have to be just looks, though! You might see something about them that’s mesmerizing. Love at first sight is a thing. Most of the time, it doesn’t work out though.”

“I see.”

“Now, why are you asking? Do you have a crush?”

“No, I was just curious.”

* * *

Akaashi does not fall in love with any of his classmates in middle school, but maybe there is a moment when he falls in love:

Bokuto Koutarou jumps, his form tight, spikes, and irrevocably changes the trajectory of Akaashi’s life. There is undeniable power and _passion_ behind every move he makes, and Akaashi is reminded of the glass rose that still sits on his desk; he’s staring at a galaxy, a star burning bright, all wrapped up in one.

“Hard to believe he’s only a first year,” he hears one of the other spectators say, just barely.

Akaashi’s eyes are glued to Bokuto Koutarou’s figure even as he slumps, seeming troubled, after being blocked. If he goes to Fukurodani, he can play with someone like that, someone who just screams “star player.” He can play volleyball, in this passionate, unrestrained way, that he’s never even dreamt of before.

“Wow,” his teammate breathes, once Fukurodani is done with their match and they’re preparing the court for the next one. “Suzumeoka’s over there; wanna check them out now?”

“No,” Akaashi says. Even if he didn’t already have a recommendation for Fukurodani, he would go there anyway.

But love at first sight is not really a thing, or at least, not a thing that lasts, so maybe this is when he falls in love:

The first practice of the year is over, and Akaashi’s one of the only ones left in the gym because he’s been assigned clean-up duty. He’s somewhat aware, of Bokuto Koutarou and some of the other second years still being there, but he doesn’t really notice until—

“Hey, Akashi-kun.”

He turns, surprised, to see who he’s being addressed by, but first: “It’s Akaashi.”

Bokuto Koutarou sets his own pace, though, and he continues like he didn’t hear Akaashi at all. “Could you please help me practice spikes? Just for a little bit?”

One of the second years, standing behind Bokuto Koutarou, frantically waves his arms and shout-whispers, “Say no!” But Bokuto Koutarou’s pleading eyes are convincing, and Akaashi is honored to be asked by a star player for extra practice, so he agrees.

Akaashi tosses ball after ball, and Bokuto Koutarou slams them all down with no sign of stopping. He’s sweating so much, his body is already starting to ache, he doesn’t think he’s _ever_ practiced this much in his life (and it can’t be said that he slacked off or anything of the sort in middle school), and the nail in the coffin: Bokuto Koutarou says his name wrong, again.

Akaashi’s head is a little fuzzy from exerting himself so much, so he almost misses what, exactly, Bokuto Koutarou is saying, which would’ve been a tragedy because Bokuto Koutarou says this, with the most captivating smile:

“Your tosses are the best!”

He doesn’t think his middle school teammates ever said anything like that, during his entire three years, and Bokuto Koutarou, _star player,_ is saying this after practicing with him for the first time ever. His heart feels a little fuzzy, too, as he finally remembers to respond: “Sure.”

Bokuto Koutarou’s definition of “a little” is warped, but Akaashi picks himself up, enough for them to go on a little longer until the captain notices all the lights still on, the open gym door, and yells at them to stop overexerting themselves.

“Thanks for practicing with me, Akaashi!” His eyes glow, especially bright, considering the starless night sky.

Or, maybe:

Akaashi has unwittingly placed Bokuto-san in a box and decided he understands how he operates now, when Bokuto-san surprises him. Reminds him that there’s no box or label that could really contain someone like Bokuto-san.

There’s no real reason for Bokuto-san to be paying attention to him, a first year, but it’s a fact that he _does._ Because Bokuto-san comes up to him after a practice match is over and asks, “Akaashi, what was that? The blockers totally slammed that one down!” Because he’s genuinely curious about what Akaashi’s doing, because he’s observed Akaashi enough to know he hit the block intentionally.

It’s refreshing that such a talented player is so hungry to be better, to learn more, even from those younger and less skilled than him. The more time he spends with Bokuto-san and the rest of the Fukurodani, the more sure he is of his choice to come here. Even when Bokuto-san takes what Akaashi was trying to do, and succeeds at doing a rebound on the first try. He’s not even bitter, or jealous, and it’s funny, even, the commotion that Bokuto-san makes when he fails his second and third attempts.

There’s really a million little moments like this to choose from, as plentiful as the stars in the sky, and this isn’t even love at first sight anymore because they’ve known each other for months by this point. It’s hard to pinpoint; is this when he fell in love?

“Akaashi?” Bokuto-san says, after another one of their extra practices. He takes a large gulp of water, keeps Akaashi waiting now that his attention has been caught. “I want to play a _real_ game with you sometime.” Bokuto-san’s eyes are like jewels, captivating, especially now. They scream, _I dare you, catch up with me,_ and Akaashi is helpless, a sailor enchanted by a siren.

“Me, too, Bokuto-san.”

  
\--

Akaashi doesn’t quite have a permanent position on the team yet; it’s the third years’ last Nationals, and they cling to their positions desperately. But victory doesn’t care for emotions like _I want to stay on the court longer,_ it cares for power and skill and talent and hard work.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto-san perks up when the third year setter gets benched: the desired effect. The lights at Nationals are something else; they seem drawn to Bokuto-san, crowning him in brightness. “Toss to me lots, okay?”

“That’s the plan, yes.”

\--

“Happy birthday, Bokuto!”

The locker room is a gross place to bring out a cake, but they do it anyway. The sheer joy on Bokuto-san’s face is worth it. To Akaashi, at least. When Bokuto-san looks away from the cake, their eyes meet, and exuberance behind Bokuto-san’s smile softens into something more intimate.

The thing is, Bokuto-san may be the catalyst, the one his heart remains with, always, but _because_ of Bokuto, _because_ he chose to go to Fukurodani, he gets so much more than falling in love. He gets this:

Bokuto-san is a menace to be on shift with; he frequently abandons their booth in favor of others (“Live a little, Akaashi! Exploring is how you get the true experience of culture festivals!”) and eats the food that they’re supposed to sell to customers.

“You know you could just leave him be, right?” Konoha-san says later, a familiar conversation by now, when he swings by with Komi-san and Sarukui-san. “Bokuto wouldn’t mind.”

Akaashi shrugs, watching Bokuto-san show off in front of some grade schoolers. “It’s fine. I like it this way, anyway.” Akaashi actually had to do quite a bit of juggling with his class’s responsibilities to end up manning the stand with Bokuto-san.

Konoha-san laughs while Komi-san straight up guffaws. Konoha-san swipes one, two, three skewers from the grill without paying. He grins, daring Akaashi to say anything. Sarukui-san already has one. That’s four that will be unaccounted for, in addition to however many Bokuto-san has eaten.

“Three?” Akaashi asks, replacing the empty spots on the grill.

“Gotta get one for Washio, too!”

  
  
  


And this: 

It’s Saturday, and morning practice is over when Bokuto-san corners Akaashi in the locker room. The other second years are lingering as well, suspiciously.

“Akaashi, why didn’t tell me it was your birthday?” he cries, even as Konoha-san hisses, “You mean _us,_ why didn’t he tell _us._ ”

Akaashi blinks. He expected requests for extra practice, not this. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Details!” Bokuto-san exclaims, waving his hand dismissively. He points at Akaashi, terribly solemn. “We didn’t get to celebrate on the actual day because you didn’t tell us. Thus! We will celebrate it today.”

“I hope you don’t have plans today, Akaashi,” Sarukui-san says, his apologetic tone belied by his grin.

“I don’t,” he says, but Bokuto-san’s firm “You don’t!” is much louder, like he commanded that into being the truth.

So, Akaashi spends his Saturday squished into a booth with some of his teammates, treated to a free birthday lunch and then dessert, on the house, even though Bokuto-san and Konoha-san’s hushed argument over “you can’t just say it’s his birthday!” and “birthday weeks are totally a thing!” is decidedly loud.

“I hope you had fun today, Akaashi,” Komi-san says, when they’ve all left the restaurant. “Bokuto really wanted you to enjoy this.”

Akaashi nods, watching as Washio-san manhandles Bokuto-san and Konoha-san apart. On his actual birthday, he went to morning practice. He sat through classes. He went to afternoon practice, and extra practice with Bokuto-san. By the time he got home, his parents had a birthday cake ready, as well as a book he’s been wanting to read as a gift. He had no messages from his old middle school classmates, and teammates, wishing him a happy birthday. He was fine with that, because he never made a big deal over his birthday anyway, and middle school friends inevitably drift apart.

“Akaashi?” Komi-san prompts, and Akaashi realizes Bokuto-san and Konoha-san have stopped fighting, and they’re crowding the entrance to the restaurant.

“I had fun. Thank you,” he says, moving away from the door and urging the others to do the same.

“Good,” Bokuto-san declares, and he looks stupidly, terribly proud. Akaashi’s gut is uncomfortably warm despite his rather light outfit and the December chill.

  
  
  


This, too:

“You’re gonna _love_ training camp,” Bokuto-san says, practically vibrating in his seat next to Akaashi. “It’s great!”

This is perhaps the tenth time he’s said so in the last hour. Akaashi has sort of lost count. (Perhaps there is some merit to Komi-san calling him a “weirdo” because Akaashi is sick of hearing it, but not as fed up as he should be.)

“Don’t mind him,” Konoha-san says, long-suffering. “He’s just excited to see Kuroo, even though they text _and_ meet up often enough.”

Bokuto-san twists to face Konoha-san with the full force of his yelling. “Yeah, but volleyball! Me and Kuroo don’t get to play proper volleyball with just us, and Kuroo doesn’t like tossing to me, not like Akaashi does!”

There’s a bark of laughter from Komi-san. “That’s ‘cause Kuroo’s not a setter!”

Bokuto-san pouts with his whole body, just like he does everything else. It’s cute. His focus returns to Akaashi. “Any _way,_ I just mean that training camp’s great!”

And it is. These are casual matches against powerful opponents, so Coach Yamiji takes the opportunity to try out all sorts of combinations. Such as pitting a team without any third years against Nekoma, the team that flows smoothly, liquid in motion, when receiving.

“Kuroo!” Bokuto-san shouts, the moment they step on the court. “You’re going down!”

One of the taller members on the other team, who stands out with his wildly unkempt hair and an infuriating grin, shouts right back: “In your dreams, Bokuto! We’re new and improved.”

He’s not all talk, Akaashi learns, as Kuroo-san is great at shutting down Bokuto-san’s spikes and sending him spiralling into a depressed mood, and their slouching setter—Kenma—is _smart._ His athletic ability is clearly lacking, but his sense for the game is impressive. And the other players aren’t pushovers either; steady, calm, persevering, they live up to Nekoma’s motto: always managing to _connect._

Even so, Fukurodani’s side is made up of members who are used to practicing together, if not actually playing together in real matches. Though they’re not as great as saving the ball, they make up for it with force, and Bokuto-san, after Akaashi coaxes him back to happiness, is a force of nature.

So, Fukurodani ends up taking the win, and Bokuto-san gets to laugh triumphantly.

As usual, after all the practice matches are over, Bokuto-san drags Akaashi to extra practice. He leads them confidently to one of the side gyms, where Kuroo-san is lying in wait.

“Oh?” he says, when they enter, leaning down to peer at Akaashi. “Who’s this?”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto-san declares for him. “I’ve told you about him before.” Akaashi’s brain stutters. Bokuto-san, _talking_ about him? Something he never considered.

“Ah, yes, your setter,” Kuroo-san agrees, tossing the volleyball in his hands idly. The way he says _your setter_ feels intimate, like _your_ means Bokuto-san and not Fukurodani, because Fukurodani _has_ an official setter, and it’s not Akaashi. “Well,” Kuroo-san continues, turning away from them and stepping onto the court, “I couldn’t get Kenma to come practice, and Yakkun’s helping out some of the first years, so it’s just us.”

“That’s okay, Akaashi can set to me, and you can try and block,” Bokuto-san decides, and despite Kuroo-san’s protest of “isn’t that a little unfair to little old me?” that’s what they do all the way until Shirofuku-san scolds them into getting dinner.

It’s different from their usual extra practice, especially with Kuroo-san added in, but it’s still comfortable. Easy, the way Bokuto-san calls for tosses even though he’s the only one to toss to, and Kuroo-san defends relentlessly even though pitting one blocker against Bokuto-san is more than mean and Akaashi can join in on the light ribbing without feeling like he’s overstepping boundaries.

It’s just as great as Bokuto-san advertised it to be, and he is a little sad to see the other teams go when they get on the bus, several new numbers added to his phone.

_When they’re happy, you’re happy. When they’re sad, you’re sad._

Bokuto-san’s moods are varied; he swings between low and high throughout matches, both practice and real, all the time. Despite his inconsistencies, people notice a light that shines as bright as Bokuto-san does, and marked as he is, Bokuto-san’s crosses get blocked more and more. Akaashi helplessly watches Bokuto-san being stifled by darkness, getting dimmer and dimmer with each failure. It’s rare for Bokuto-san to stew in his sadness, but Akaashi wouldn’t blame him for it, too much, would even let him wallow for a while before kicking him back into gear. Akaashi’s gut twists uncomfortably, after all, seeing Bokuto-san at his lowest.

As always, though, Bokuto-san surpasses expectations. He picks himself back up and asks Akaashi if they can practice, as if Akaashi would ever refuse. They practice longer and harder than ever because Bokuto-san’s passion lights its own fire in Akaashi. They practice until they’re sweating buckets, and their legs turn to jelly, both with and without the other second years, during and after official practice. Akaashi gets home later and later until his parents finally give up on waiting to eat dinner with him, both he and Bokuto pushing themselves to the limit, then beyond, like a star exploding with brilliance.

It gets to the point where Konoha-san enlists the help of the other second years, including their managers, to enforce a curfew. Bokuto-san whines and pouts and protests, as Washio-san drags him out of the gym every day, like clockwork, but a stern lecture from their coach, who usually indulges all of Bokuto-san’s idiosyncrasies, cures him of his reluctance, especially with the threat of overworking himself to the point of sickness and being _benched._ Practicing less intensely is not the drop from the precipice they were climbing, as Bokuto-san maybe feared, but instead, a flatter ascent, stabler and healthier.

Everyone else was not wrapped up in the fever pitch of practice, practice, practice, like Bokuto-san and Akaashi, but they join in to help Bokuto-san perfect his new move as well, now that extra practices don’t stretch terribly long anymore.

And finally, eventually, all this practice pays off.

They’re at Nationals, the first round of what is hopefully many, and there is a dearth of third years, but there is still a third year setter to stand on the court. He’s doing well, like he always has, when it didn’t matter as much that Bokuto-san played best with Akaashi. But now, when they’re encouraging Bokuto-san to officially come into his own as the ace, it’s not _enough._

So Coach Yamiji substitutes Akaashi in, at a critical moment when Fukurodani needs someone to help them pull ahead.

That someone is, ostensibly, Akaashi, but really, that someone is Bokuto-san, whose cross is blocked but saved by Komi-san, and mirroring the countless times they’ve done it in practice, Akaashi tosses the ball to Bokuto-san, who shows off his super-clean straight for the first time in competition.

Bokuto-san leaps at Akaashi first, and Akaashi’s hands sting with the force of his happiness. They’re wrapped up in a group hug by the rest of the team, and it’s sweaty and too hot and a little uncomfortable, but maybe part of that is the way Bokuto-san’s unrestrained joy makes Akaashi’s heart beat just on the side of too fast to be healthy.

They ride the momentum to win the set, and in the end, the whole match, but the crowning moment for Akaashi is not in the winning point, but in the way Bokuto-san pulls off straight after straight, to the consternation of the opposing team’s defense.

They’re not prepared for Bokuto-san, and in a way, Akaashi wasn’t either.

At some point, throughout the year or so Akaashi has known him, Bokuto-san and _Fukurodani,_ really, have woven their way firmly into his heart. He is a part of them, and he can stay with them as long as they don’t _lose,_ and maybe _don’t lose_ is an overwhelming mantra that counterintuitively messes with his performance, but how can he stop himself when—

“…in a few days, we’re all going to say goodbye to each other and go our separate ways, so it’s about time I became just an ace.”

—when Bokuto-san and everyone else are playing their best (in fact, Bokuto-san has been playing _consistently_ at his best recently), can he be blamed for wanting this to last just a bit longer? For wanting everyone’s desperation, _his own,_ to pay off?

It stings that he ends up benched, rightfully so, because somewhere along the way, Bokuto-san’s light has blinded him. But now, cooling down on the sidelines, Akaashi can see the problem for what it truly is.

_“Have you ever thought it’d be okay if we lost a match?”_

_No,_ _never._

Winning every match is impossible, no matter how much sweat and blood and tears you offer to the gods. But Akaashi would give anything for them to win all the way until they reach the top, to preserve this moment just a little longer, to hear—

 _Keep up,_ Bokuto screams. _Give me your all._

And when he rejoins the game, that’s exactly what Akaashi does.

There is no period of time that lasts, eternally. Akaashi doesn’t let his concerns, the all-consuming fear of being _the reason_ for Fukurodani’s defeat—irrational as it is—affect his performance anymore. Steady, calm, collected, that’s how he performs. Bokuto-san has made tremendous strides in the past few days to become the ace he said he would be. Winning Nationals: it should be the perfect send-off but…

Contrary to Akaashi’s worries, there is no obvious mistake that results in Fukurodani’s loss. Bokuto-san’s spike being blocked is the nail in the coffin, but Komi-san couldn’t save it. Akaashi couldn’t save it. Konoha-san’s toss was messed up because Sarukui-san was forced to receive in a tricky spot, messing up their formation. And really, if they’re going to go that far, they could go earlier. What about in the fourth set, when Fukurodani was riding the waves of momentum to certain victory before crashing and flailing in front of the brick wall that was the opposing team’s pinch server? There wouldn’t have even been a fifth set, then.

So there is no one at fault. There is only the ball landing on their side of the court, the resounding thud signalling the end of this iteration of Fukurodani.

Of course, Konoha-san tries to take the blame for himself. And of course, Bokuto-san doesn’t let him.

“I should’ve hit that. An ordinary ace should be able to hit any kind of ball, but…”

But Bokuto-san is not an "ordinary" ace, yet. They crashed and burned in the first set due to a slow start, not expecting Bokuto-san’s mood swings to make a vehement return. Akaashi bites his lip, struggles to stop himself from grabbing Bokuto-san by the shoulders and just yelling—

_What in the world is your definition of “ordinary”? You shine like the brightest star, you draw in everyone’s attention like a black hole, you’re too much to be just “ordinary.”_

—but Konoha-san is speaking, like this is the end because it _is_ the end now. “…I’m rooting for you, ordinary ace.”

And Akaashi doesn’t trust himself to speak steadily yet, so he just nods along. If _ordinary_ is what Bokuto-san wants to be, then Akaashi will support him, screwed-up definition and all. 

There’s hugs, tight and sweaty and gross, and lumbering to the bus like zombies after everything’s over. Almost everyone falls asleep, exhausted from the highs and lows, pushing their bodies to be just a second faster, a touch stronger, but Akaashi stays awake.

Onaga is the only other starting member that’s not graduating, come March. As Bokuto-san snores away on Akaashi’s shoulder, Akaashi indulges in the sight of all of them packed onto the bus one more time. There won’t be any more late night practices, interrupted by their managers and the more responsible third years. There won’t be any more outings, instigated by Bokuto-san, but encouraged by Komi-san. There won’t be any more silly incidents, like just the night before, when Bokuto-san was fooling around and the other third years just _watched,_ astounded.

The responsibility of being captain will fall on Akaashi’s shoulders from now on, and there isn’t even a safety net to fall back on.

* * *

Akaashi already has the keys to the gym, so they are symbolically handed off. And this is it; they’re parting ways, and all the third years wish Akaashi well. (“Akaashi doesn’t need luck!” Bokuto-san declares. “I know he’ll be just fine.” It’s a blessing and a curse, neatly packaged together.)

Onaga is granted the dubious honor of vice-captain, and he throws in his two cents as well. “I believe in you, Akaashi-san.” A sweet sentiment that adds its weight to the ever-increasing pressure on Akaashi’s shoulders.

None of it makes the first practice after the third years have all left any better. Their team seems so much smaller, so much gloomier, without the third years to mess around, with their bigger-than-life personalities.

Practice is _fine,_ just fine; they really need some of the first years and second years to fill impossibly large shoes, but that doesn’t happen in a couple of hours. The lack of synergy makes sense, it’s just—

“Boku—” Akaashi cuts himself off and calls out the correct name, as he aims his toss. No one points out his mistake. The practice match continues. Akaashi vows to never make that mistake again. (This is a promise Akaashi struggles to keep because Bokuto-san wiggled his way so _easily_ into Akaashi’s life, and his walking back out is not. It’s a hard habit to shake, especially so soon: the expectation that Bokuto-san will be right there. Always.)

Bokuto-san and the other third years do show up to practice when they can, Bokuto-san especially because he doesn’t have to worry about grades and tests and things of that sort, not when he’s going pro. (As expected.)

It’s agonizing, this weird limbo they’re in, where Akaashi gets to be reminded what Fukurodani’s losing. But March, graduation, is worse because it signals the _real_ end.

The third years swing by one last time to say their goodbyes, for real this time. Akaashi congratulates each one of them individually, even as the sinking pit in his stomach grows, going down the line. He even endures the hair ruffling from Konoha-san, which is apparently the other third years’ cue to join in. Onaga gets roped in as well, and there’s ugly crying from most of them. (“I’m a sympathetic crier,” Bokuto-san insists. “Everyone else stop crying first!”)

In the end, though, there’s Akaashi and Bokuto-san who very conspicuously takes something out of his bag and hides it behind his back. (There’s also the rest of their team, hiding very poorly behind a wall.)

“We’ll call,” Bokuto-san is saying, “and text! Oh! And I’ll visit when I can.” Akaashi is a little amused, and his heart _hurts,_ seeing Bokuto-san trying not to gesture wildly with his hands. “Osaka’s not _that_ far.”

“You’ll be busy,” Akaashi says because reason is his saving grace right now.

“I’ll never be too busy for you!” Bokuto-san’s voice is booming, and Akaashi can _see_ his teammates’ frantic gossipping. If he focuses on that, it’s easy to ignore the flush that’s steadily creeping its way up his neck.

And to top it all off, Bokuto-san rips a button off his blazer and forces it into Akaashi’s unsuspecting hands. It’s not even the second button because it’s not a _gakuran,_ but Bokuto-san is turning tomato-red, so it has to be what Akaashi hopes it is. A confession.

“Are you confessing?” _In front of all our teammates, no less._ His heart pounds; it feels like it’s in his throat when Bokuto-san takes a hammer and shatters it by blurting out, “No!” The gasp from the peanut gallery is not appreciated.

“I mean, yes but no? Oh, that came out wrong.” Bokuto-san is rambling, and Akaashi can’t take the emotional rollercoaster he’s unwillingly riding. “I meant, I want you to have this, and this—” He shoves a prettily-wrapped box into Akaashi’s hands as well, his fingers distinctly warm and sweaty. “—I saw it, and I thought of you, so I just needed you to have it. And I do.” He clears his throat. “I do _like_ you.” Bokuto-san’s smile is shy and sweet, and Akaashi’s heart _really can’t take this anymore._ “I just, I want, it needs to be perfect.”

Akaashi frowns. “Does it really? I accept your feelings and—”

Bokuto-san covers Akaashi’s mouth. “GAHH, let me explain first! I don’t want, hm, it’s just,” and he’s back to babbling. “How do I say this right? I wrote a script and everything. I’m not the ace I want to be yet,” he says, out of nowhere, like volleyball is related to romance. Maybe it is, for people like Bokuto-san. “And uh, I read somewhere online that high school sweethearts are overrated, and I don’t want to trap you or anything? So, I’m gonna become the perfect ace, and I’ll choose the perfect moment to confess _for real,_ and you can give me your answer then. Wait for me, Akaashi.” Bokuto-san finally removes his hand from Akaashi’s mouth and takes a deep, much-needed breath.

“Something about that doesn’t sound right,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto-san seems to wilt, like a neglected flower, “but this is really what you want?” Bokuto-san nods so enthusiastically, it’s a miracle his head doesn’t fall off. “Okay.”

Bokuto-san doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, how dangerous it really is. He isn’t even considering that Akaashi might give up, might move on, or that he might wait _forever._ Neither of these will happen because Akaashi aches, with his everything, for whatever Bokuto-san will give him and Bokuto-san’s perfect moment _will_ arrive. It’s just a matter of time, and Akaashi is willing to see if time will drop them from the cliff that Bokuto-san has chosen to dangle them over. He doesn’t think it will, but.

For the first time since they’ve met, they’re parting ways, walking different paths. Even if Akaashi was born just a year earlier, it still would’ve happened like this: Akaashi watching Bokuto-san’s back fading into the distance, a star drifting further and further away, with no ties like _high school_ or _teammates_ to hold them together.

“You won’t be disappointed, Akaashi!” Bokuto-san shouts, and his smile is the sun, erasing any of Akaashi’s doubts.

When Akaashi gets home, the first thing he wants to do is open the box Bokuto-san gave him. But first, his phone buzzes:

 _I SAW THE CUTESY CAT ON THE AAY HOME!!! Kuroo was jealous_ 🥳

And as if sensing Akaashi’s prior worries:

_!! TOLD YOY ID TEXT_

I suppose you did.

Akaashi sets aside Bokuto-san’s button to sew onto his own uniform later and focuses on the box. The wrapping is a little messy, crumpled in places, but done painstakingly. Akaashi takes care in unveiling the box itself, which is golden with a little clear film of plastic on top, in the shape of a heart, so he can see what’s inside.

It’s a rose, the petals dipped in gold, a twin to the iridescent one sitting innocently on his desk. For a moment, Akaashi thinks that Bokuto-san copied this gift, but then he remembers: Bokuto-san has been to his house before, but never his room.

 _I saw it, and thought of you,_ an echo of a letter from years ago that Akaashi has long since thrown away, but in Bokuto-san’s voice instead, which ultimately makes it better.

 _I saw it, and thought of you,_ which makes Akaashi want to laugh because this is ridiculous. He finally takes the gold rose out of the box, and wow, it really does match the rose Akaashi already has. The petals are just a pretty gold, instead, which is more reminiscent of Bokuto-san’s eyes than anything about Akaashi.

It’s captivating in a different way from the other rose Akaashi has because what words can even begin to describe Bokuto-san? He can’t just be succinctly summarized with a line, like “the girl who confessed to me in front of all my classmates,” not when he’s so much more.

Akaashi’s phone buzzes again.

_Hope you liked my present :DD_

I did. Thank you for the thoughtful gift, Bokuto-san.

* * *

The start of the year is shaky. As vice-captain under Bokuto-san, Akaashi handled most of the important responsibilities anyway. In return, Bokuto-san lifted everyone’s spirits. A helpful skill, especially when it comes to recruiting new members.

Bokuto-san had a way of recruiting that drew people in like a magnet, or like flies to fruit. Akaashi just stood by and handled the paperwork.

Now, Akaashi is the one in charge of recruiting people, but he is not the welcoming beacon of light that Bokuto-san was. Thankfully, there are many attracted to Fukurodani’s volleyball club because of how well they did at Nationals last year, and it helps that Onaga is basking in being _senpai_ to someone for once.

Unfortunately, interest does not mean commitment, as evidenced by how the new recruits start dropping like flies when they realize that joining the volleyball club means _morning practice,_ and practice at a powerhouse school means serious business.

“Don’t mind, Akaashi-san!” Onaga reassures him after half of the first years stop showing up. It’s hard for Akaashi to remember if this ever happened in the past two years because he was too focused on Bokuto-san to really look around him, at most of the others his age and below. “We’ve got some promising first years. They’re not you, or Bokuto-san, or Washio-san, or…” Onaga rambles on for a while, somewhat comfortingly, as Akaashi checks that the gym’s all closed up.

(There’s no one to yell at for staying way too late.)

It’s really Bokuto-san’s random daily texts that assuage Akaashi’s worries.

* * *

Akaashi is sitting across from Kenma at their usual café when Kuroo-san slinks in. He’s holding a cup of what must be the gateway to a caffeinated death, and he somehow manages to plop down next to Kenma, gracefully. Kenma scoots over, eyes still glued to his mobile game.

“‘Hey, Kuroo, how are you doing?’ Why, thanks for asking, I’m doing just fine,” Kuroo-san says instantly before his eyes drop to Akaashi’s phone, which is lying face up on the table, incriminatingly open to his texts with Bokuto-san.

“I didn’t think you’d be joining,” Akaashi says simply.

“Oh?” Kuroo-san leans over, blatantly reading upside down. “So, you and Bokuto are doing well, huh? You better make your move, or he’ll get snatched up,” Kuroo-san teases. Then, with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle, “He’s totally a catch.”

That’s when Kenma elbows Kuroo-san in the side. The resulting _oomph_ is performative, but satisfactory and bides time for Akaashi to consider: Bokuto-san didn’t tell anyone about his not-confession, and somehow, no one from Fukurodani has told Kuroo-san, not even Bokuto-san himself.

“I’ve got a point though,” Kuroo-san insists, apparently undeterred by Kenma’s sharp elbows.

Akaashi grimaces. “I suppose.” A pause. “But he won’t get, as you said, ‘snatched up,’ Incompetent-at-romance Kuroo-san.”

“Hey, that’s uncalled for!” Kuroo-san takes an indignant sip of his caffeine abomination, but mercifully lays that conversation to rest. For the duration of their meet-up, at least.

“You didn’t tell Kuroo-san?”

“About what?”

“About your…not-confession.”

“Oh!” A nervous laugh, garbled through his phone’s speaker. “I just wanted to keep it between us, for now.”

“I see.” A little too late for that.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sometimes, the Fukurodani gym feels impossibly cold. (“Maybe it’s the weather?” Onaga suggests, but he doesn’t sound very confident, especially when Akaashi pointedly looks outside at the brilliant blue sky, the strong sunlight filtering through the windows.)

Even when they’re all sweaty from practice, breathing hard, Akaashi feels a distinct lack of warmth. It’s in the way he’s never bothered for extra practice anymore, or cajoled into overseeing some truly bad ideas, or—

There’s no one for him to look to anymore; a reliable foundation has been ripped out from underneath him, and he’s still struggling to find his balance, his new normal.

The only upside is that none of the overeager first years have had the experience of being Bokuto-san’s teammates; they may have seen him playing, been dazzled by his everything, like Akaashi was, but they didn’t experience the warm, reassuring weight of his presence. The way he could light up a room and inspire them all, at the apex of his mood swings.

They have expectations, built up from Fukurodani’s reputation, but they’re not expecting him to measure up to Bokuto-san.

(“I don’t really get it,” Kenma says during one of their meet-ups that Kuroo-san is confirmed to be too busy for, “why you’re so concerned about living up to Bokuto. Maybe because I’m not captain.” He shudders, just the smallest movement of his shoulders.

“Do you think Taketora-san matches up to Kuroo-san?”

Kenma shrugs. “They’re very different people. There’s no point in comparing.”

They sit in silence, Akaashi sipping from his coffee.

“Shouyou is very eye-catching,” Kenma says out of nowhere. He glances up from his phone. In the short second that their eyes meet, Akaashi is reminded of a cat: a keen, assessing gaze. “I don’t think the Karasuno first years compare the rest to Shouyou, in the way that you’re doing to yourself. Like I said, they’re very different people.”)

* * *

Akaashi has finished most of his homework and is just staring at the two roses on his desk, lost in thought, when his laptop dings.

It’s Bokuto-san, asking to video call. Akaashi pushes his homework aside and accepts the incoming call.

At first, Bokuto-san’s screen is dark, but he pops into view with a delighted “Akaashi!” It’s quieter than usual, though, lacking Bokuto-san’s signature cheer. Combined with the grimace and his hair down—a rare, pretty sight, whenever Akaashi saw it in the past, but now, the hanging strands make it seem like Bokuto-san’s wilting—Bokuto-san is a sorry sight.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Bokuto-san insists, as he always does when he gets like this. “I’m not supposed to get into these funks anymore. I’m supposed to be new and improved. No more coddling.” The severity of his pout says otherwise.

“You’re aiming to be an ordinary ace,” Akaashi points out. Calm and steady, the guiding voice of support that Bokuto-san appreciates. “Not a perfect person with no problems. Now can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Bokuto-san says nothing for the longest time, but Akaashi is patient, has had patience ingrained into him. “I’m not playing. In the Kurowashiki Tournament.” It’s like pulling teeth sometimes, getting Bokuto-san to voice his deeper worries.

“But you will,” Akaashi states. There’s no other path for Bokuto-san. “It’s just a matter of time. We all believe in you.” _I believe in you._ “You know this.”

Bokuto-san sniffles, and his voice is thick with unshed tears when he says, “You’re the best, Akaashi! I guess I just really needed to hear that from your face.”

Akaashi’s heart is pounding too wildly for him to respond coherently. It really is different, seeing these words in a text and hearing them straight from Bokuto-san. “I missed your face, too.”

  
  
  


* * *

“Ah, Fukurodani lost in the third round, huh?”

“It makes sense.” The tone is all-knowing, smug. “They lost most of their starting members, after all. And one of them was an ace in the top five. Inarizaki and Itachiyama are still the teams favored to win, you know. They’ve still got their star players.”

“I guess you’re right. The Inarizaki-Karasuno game was so nerve-wracking! I’m glad we chose to see that one instead.”

Onaga has to physically restrain some of the overly-defensive first years, even though he himself clearly wants to start a fight as well.

“Don’t mind what they’re saying,” Akaashi scolds them, as he continues to lead them out of the venue and towards their bus. There’s no wind today, so the air is hot and muggy, unpleasant even though they’ve wiped off the worst of the sweat. The faster they hit the showers, the better. “We’ll just have to prove them wrong when the Spring Tournament comes around.”

“You’re still staying with us, right, captain?” one of the first years interrupts, jumping in front of Akaashi.

Akaashi looks down at the first year, practically begging on his knees, bemused. Especially when some of the other first years join in. They must be making a spectacle of themselves: just another thing Fukurodani can do perfectly fine without Bokuto-san. “Of course.” Volleyball may not be his lifeblood, like it is Bokuto-san’s, but he intends to follow through with what he’s started. “The coach already said this, but Fukurodani has always been more than just the ace. Even without Bokuto-san, our team is capable. So we’ll prove them wrong in the Spring Tournament.”

_Nice job, Akaashi. Knew you could do it._

_Congrats on Best 8!!_

_what they said_

_What they said x2 LOL, good job Akaashi_ 💪

Thank you.

_YEA!! AKAASHI DID SO GREAT!!_

  
\--

_SORRY I COULDN’T COME :((( BUT YOU GUYS DID AWESOME!!! KNEW MY FAVORITE CAPTAIN COULD DO IT!!_

Thank you, Bokuto-san. We’ll do even better next time.

_!! I BELIEVE YOU_

* * *

“A _kaaashi!_ ” Bokuto-san’s face is blurry because he’s moving too much. Akaashi doesn’t bother containing his own smile; Bokuto-san’s happiness is infectious. “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

Akaashi shrugs, the picture of nonchalance, trying to ignore the way even a blurry, pixelated version of Bokuto-san’s smile makes his heart tremble. His eyes land on Bokuto-san’s gold rose, still captivating after so many months. “Of course I did.” Then, “Washio-san and the others chipped in, too.”

“You _guys,_ ” Bokuto-san whines. “How did you know I was having trouble sleeping?”

Akaashi frowns, considers the expensive headphones they got him. “For sleeping?”

“You’re really like a mind reader, Akaashi. Thanks a bunch!” Bokuto-san shakes the camera relentlessly.

“Yes, well, Konoha-san wanted to say, it’s an investment, not a gift. A sign of our expectations, if you will.”

“Of course!” Bokuto-san agrees, nodding thoughtlessly in the way that Akaashi knows means he doesn’t fully understand. “Tell him to watch me. I’ll play in the upcoming V.League, for sure!”

Akaashi frowns. “You have each other’s phone numbers.”

“Oh, right!” Relative silence, then, as Bokuto-san scrambles for his phone and starts texting their group chat. Akaashi’s phone buzzes on the desk, but he’s looking at Bokuto-san’s face, scrunched in concentration, tongue sticking out.

“I wish I could’ve gone down to see you.”

Bokuto-san’s head whips up, lightning fast. His face fills the entire screen. “ _Akaashi,_ that’s so sweet of you!”

* * *

Being a third year and captain of the esteemed volleyball team is difficult, especially since, as his homeroom teacher asks, often: “you want to go to a good university, don’t you?”

“Yes, and I will,” he always responds, rote, because it’s difficult but not _impossible._ Just look at Kuroo-san. Waseda is no Todai, but it’s up there.

So, as the Spring preliminaries, as well as the end of the year, creep closer and closer, Akaashi finds himself staying up later, studying for university entrance tests after he’s already finished his homework.

His hair hasn’t even fully dried yet, and he’s hunched over his desk, doing practice questions, when his laptop dings. It’s Bokuto-san, of course, so Akaashi pushes away his mostly-finished work to answer it.

“A _gaaaashi,_ ” Bokuto-san slurs, and his cheeks are alarmingly red. Akaashi is reminded of standing outside the Fukurodani gym, Bokuto-san shoving presents at him and rambling. Then, the phone is plucked from Bokuto-san’s hands, giving Akaashi a view of the ink black sky, and then, Kuroo-san.

“Sorry about that, Akaashi,” Kuroo-san apologizes. His unrepentant grin does nothing to sell his sincerity. “He’s only had two drinks.”

“Underage drinking is illegal.”

Kuroo-san laughs. “Bokuto’s just a lightweight, surprisingly. I had the same amount he did.”

“Agaaashi,” Bokuto-san groans from somewhere behind Kuroo-san, and there is the distinct, lovely sound of vomiting. Kuroo-san’s nose wrinkles, as he glares at Bokuto-san off-screen, and then there is a slight scuffle as Bokuto-san tries to wrestle his phone out of Kuroo-san’s grip.

Kuroo-san must give up because Bokuto-san seems drunk enough that he shouldn’t have stood a chance. “I _loooove_ you,” he croons at the camera, and he is truly a miserable sight: hair tousled, cheeks splotchy, and eyes unfocused. There is even maybe drool at the corner of his mouth, but even like this, he makes Akaashi’s heart splutter. Akaashi feels heat creeping into his cheeks, like he’s the drunk one, and his hands are starting to sweat. If he was holding a volleyball, it would slip right out of his hands.

Bokuto-san’s dopey smile is still there, as he says it again, and it’s radiant, as always. It makes Akaashi’s heart ache because he wants nothing more than to reach through the screen, cup Bokuto-san’s flushed cheeks between his hands, and whisper, “I love you back.” He would love to help Bokuto-san stumble his way back to his apartment, tuck him safely into bed, and sit with him if he felt the need to throw up some more. Brush his unruly hair away from his face, and rub his back comfortingly.

But Akaashi can’t do any of that, so he settles for maybe the fifth best choice. Kuroo-san is probably listening in, storing information to use as meddling material later. “Kuroo-san, please get him back home safely.”

“But of course,” Kuroo-san says, and when he slings an arm around Bokuto-san’s shoulders, his face is in the frame so that Akaashi gets the full pleasure of his exaggerated wink. “Anything for my best bro’s… _best friend._ ”

“Good _bye_ , Kuroo-san.”

Akaashi has trouble sleeping that night, and it shows at morning practice. He’s concealed the dark circles as best as he can, but:

“You alright, Akaashi-san? You look a little tired,” Onaga observes.

“Just fine,” Akaashi assures.

Onaga is clearly not convinced because Akaashi is bothered a lot less at practice than he usually is, and he’s even presented with an energy drink afterwards.

“I guess you don’t want to talk about it, but just know that I’m here if you need me!” Onaga proclaims, like he’s still an overexcited first year.

“Of course, sorry for worrying you.” Onaga opens his mouth, clearly about to say something more, but Akaashi’s phone buzzes, and starts buzzing continuously. It can’t be anyone else but Bokuto. “I’ll see you at afternoon practice.”

Akaashi hurries to his classroom before checking his messages.

_OH MYVGOD IM SORRY YOU SAW ME LIKE TAGT_

_I SEART I TOLD KUROO TO NOT LET ME DO ANYTHING DUMV BUT WE WERE JSUT CSLEBRATING CAUDE IM GONNA. BE STARUING IN AN UPCOMING GAME!!!_

_BUT I WANTED TO SURPRISE YOU AND NOW THE SURPISE IS TUJNED DD:_

There is no indication that Bokuto-san actually remembers any of what he said last night. Akaashi deliberates, even as the teacher starts her lesson, about how to respond. He now has a not-confession from Bokuto-san, as well as a not-declaration-of-love.

Congratulations, Bokuto-san. I’m excited to see you play.

Please be more careful, though.

* * *

Today would be a normal day, except for the fact that it’s Akaashi’s birthday, and he won’t have his upperclassmen dragging him out to have fun. Bokuto-san texted, enthusiastically, of course, along with the other Fukurodani alumni. Kenma, as well. It’s different, though, not seeing them in person.

Akaashi shivers, and it’s not just the cold December air. Two years. That’s enough time for Akaashi to have grown accustomed to a routine on his birthday, and the world feels a little off-kilter because he knows that it’s not happening. His current team is mostly composed of members that don’t know that it’s his birthday today.

Despite this, before morning practice, Akaashi is ambushed by the team in the locker room.

“Happy birthday, captain!” they shout, and Akaashi looks at the first years in front of him, who are presenting a small store-bought cake. Then, he notices Onaga, who’s fidgeting behind one of the taller first years. Then, his attention is drawn back to the first years, practically shoving the cake box into his hands.

It’s a little sweet, how eager they are. Akaashi gently places the cake in his locker. Then, he’s forced into the center of a circle of overenthusiastic teenagers.

After a round of off-key singing, they file out until only Akaashi and Onaga are left. Onaga keeps glancing at the door and inching towards it.

“Please don’t kill me, Akaashi-san! I just wanted to—” Another glance towards the door. “Uh, surprise you? I mentioned it was your birthday, and everyone totally wanted to get you something, I hope you’re not mad that I told them—”

Akaashi laughs. Onaga freezes, tensing up even more. Is he really so hard to read? It’s weird, how Bokuto-san never seems to have any trouble. “It’s fine. Thank you, Onaga. Let’s go to practice now.”

In the evening, Akaashi is banned from the extra practice that they’ve been doing recently because “you’re supposed to have _fun_ on your birthday, Akaashi-san!” Onaga, especially, is persistent and seems to have gotten over his earlier nervousness because he practically pushes Akaashi out of the gym.

Bemused, Akaashi starts heading home. There’s not much _fun_ he planned on having anyway, aside from maybe calling Bokuto-san. In fact, Bokuto-san is currently texting Akaashi a play-by-play of his day, and Akaashi reads through the wall of text as he walks.

It’s why he doesn’t notice the small crowd in front of his door until they call out, “Happy birthday, Akaashi!”

Akaashi looks up from his phone immediately. He even pinches himself, but he’s not hallucinating. It’s all of his upperclassmen, including Bokuto-san, and all of them, even Washio-san, are grinning smugly.

“That face!” Bokuto-san points at Akaashi, accusingly. “You didn’t think we’d show up? Akaashi.” Bokuto shakes his head, like he’s scolding a small child. “You should know better by now.”

“You should be in Osaka,” Akaashi says, stepping closer. They don’t disappear: another point for this not being a figment of his imagination. “And the rest of you mentioned having class or practice tomorrow.”

Konoha-san shrugs, clicks his tongue, also like he’s scolding a small child. “Akaashi,” he says, butchering Akaashi’s name in the way the team learned from Bokuto-san and loved to copy. “You’re really underestimating Bokuto here.”

“We planned this _weeks_ in advance,” Komi-san adds. “Weeks!”

“Bokuto was very thoughtful,” Washio-san says, as Sarukui-san does his best imitation of Bokuto-san: “‘It has to be _perfect,_ okay? My last surprise was ruined! By me! So everyone, show up to Akaashi’s house, and don’t be suspicious!’”

“Hey,” Bokuto-san protests, “I don’t sound like that!”

Akaashi laughs, which fuels Bokuto-san’s indignation, but it’s quelled when Akaashi grabs Bokuto-san’s hand. He’s really real; they’re really here. “Thank you for organizing this, Bokuto-san. I’m surprised you included my parents, as well.”

“Your parents? Why would I include your parents?” Bokuto-san asks to the consternation of everyone around them. (“What the hell, Bokuto? You didn’t even ask if we could show up to their doorstep? I _knew_ everything went too smoothly!”)

“Oh, sorry, I just assumed,” Akaashi says. “Where are we going for dinner, then?”

“Oh.” A pause. “I left that up to Konoha?”

“Huh?” Konoha-san starts shaking Bokuto-san aggressively. “You never told me to do anything! I thought you were in charge of planning everything, Bokuto!”

Washio-san ends up pulling them apart, and despite his calm suggestion that they just find someplace random, they all end up squeezed into Akaashi’s dining room. It’s chaotic, and cozy, and they sing to him, surprisingly in harmony. (“Bokuto planned _this part,_ ” Konoha-san points out, a little hysterically, “but not where we would _go._ ”) They split a too-small cake, and Bokuto-san holds Akaashi’s hand. It feels warm, secure. He never wants to let go.

“Thank you for coming,” Akaashi says, once it’s getting too late, and he has to see them off. Bokuto-san waves the whole time, which prompts the others to do so as well, until Akaashi can no longer see their figures in the distance anymore, especially against the dark backdrop of nighttime.

The door closes, but the chill lingers.

“I’m glad you’ve found such a good group of friends,” his mom observes.

“Me, too.”

* * *

Onaga has riled up the first years, which is a problem, when they’re trapped on a bus. Unfortunately, Akaashi probably didn’t help when he told them training camp is _fun._ It’s apparently a ringing endorsement, and the first years can’t calm down.

Needless to say, Akaashi is thankful when they finally arrive at their destination, and their pent-up energy can be released by putting away their things. Nekoma is already here, so Akaashi gravitates towards Kenma after he sets down his bags.

“Kuro is a horrible gossip,” Kenma says, in lieu of a greeting. As usual, he doesn’t even look up from his game.

“In what way,” Akaashi asks, but he already knows what the answer is going to be.

“He told me to not tell you, but it’s getting annoying how much he talks. About you and Bokuto. Says Bokuto said he _loved_ you, but you’re not even making a move.” Kenma pauses, levels Akaashi with a pained glare. “Kuro doesn’t want to annoy you yet because he wants to do that in person. You’re lucky he’s so busy.”

“I see. Kuroo-san doesn’t know everything, though.”

“Clearly. He’s starting to lose his mind over whether or not you like Bokuto back.”

“I do,” and it’s refreshing to admit up until Kenma’s glare intensifies.

“Is it a secret relationship, then?”

“No.”

Kenma frowns. “Are you…not sure that Bokuto likes you back?”

“No.” Akaashi hesitates, trying to find the right words so that he doesn’t seem like he’s crazy. “We’re just waiting for the right moment. To get together, I mean.”

Kenma’s face contorts. His game plays a depressing tune as his character dies. “Sounds cheesy. I hate it. Good for you.”

“I’m sorry that Kuroo-san is bothering you, though.”

Kenma waves dismissively and turns back to his game. “Bothered. Past tense. I blocked him, and he learned his lesson. He’ll be bothering you in the future though. Look forward to it.”

Once Karasuno arrives, the practice matches finally start. All the teams have different feels to them, as is usual when members come and go, but Akaashi feels it the most, going against Karasuno. They still have most of their core members from the previous year, unlike Fukurodani, but losing their former third years clearly shook their foundation. They didn’t even make it to Nationals, after all. Karasuno is making strides to improve, though, to form a new and improved team, so their matches are eerily similar to the previous year: they accrue penalties, one after another, stumbling before they get to walk.

Fukurodani, under Akaashi, on the other hand, may have lost their sturdy foundation, but despite Akaashi’s personal misgivings, the team works well together, moving like a well-oiled machine. They’ve practiced intensely since the Summer Interhigh, and the fact that they started from a better position than Karasuno shows. They win most of the games, again, but Nekoma is a close second. Closer than last year. They’ve kept most of their core members, too, and their receiving is just as impressive as ever, even without Yaku-san.

And of course, as evening approaches, the practice matches end. It’s time that they can use to do whatever they want, and Akaashi hesitates, looking around. No Bokuto-san and no Kuroo-san. The constants from his previous years, gone.

Akaashi glances at the first years on his team, contemplating if he should join their extra practice. It would be a waste, though, when there’s so many other players they can mingle with and learn from at the moment.

In the end, Akaashi’s choice is made for him by:

“C’mon, Akaashi-san,” Lev shouts, grabbing for Akaashi’s arm in a fit of boldness. He starts dragging Akaashi in the direction of their usual gym. “Hinata and Tsukki are waiting.”

It’s true. Hinata’s jumping around excitedly while Tsukki looks on, feigning disinterest.

“Alright, now that Akaashi-san’s here, let’s get started! Two-on-twos!” He’s still holding onto Akaashi’s arm and waves it around like a limp noodle. Akaashi pries Lev’s fingers off of his arm.

“Wait, no fair!” Hinata butts in, leaping in front of Lev. “I want Akaashi-san on my side.”

Lev starts arguing with Hinata, towering over him; Tsukki looks like he’s ready to bolt as they duke it out. This bickering dynamic is familiar, but it’s a couple shades off from feeling _right._

In the end, Hinata wins. While Hinata crows in celebration, Lev stomps over to Tsukki’s side of the court, but he doesn’t look too put out because. It’s a mirror of their teams from last year, but _worse._ There is no Bokuto-san on their side to inflate their average height, and no Kuroo-san on the other side to shorten theirs.

Lev and Tsukki are not Kuroo-san, despite the glimpses of his teachings evident in their blocking, but they have improved by leaps and bounds. Lev is competent, and Tsukki has _drive._ At the same time, Hinata, though he is Bokuto-san’s precious disciple, is not Bokuto-san. He lacks the power Bokuto-san has in favor of speed, and though he’s sharpened his skills, Akaashi can’t bring out his true potential. He’s no Kageyama, or Miya Atsumu.

And watching Hinata’s exuberance, the way his presence fills the court, Akaashi is struck by Bokuto-san’s absence, even more than he has during normal practice and matches. There, Akaashi missed the steadiness of all his upperclassmen, but here, during this extra practice, _only_ Bokuto-san is missing.

Akaashi finds himself searching the empty spaces of the court for a familiar streak of black-and-silver hair, about to toss to someone who’s not there, and he’s supposed to have trained himself out of this habit already.

“Don’t mind, Akaashi-san!” Hinata calls, but he’s out of breath from having to scurry around more than usual, chasing after wayward tosses. They’re losing miserably, and to drive that point home, Lev and Tsukki have barely worked up a sweat.

 _Task focus,_ Akaashi reminds himself. Hinata is the only other person on his side, and Akaashi hasn’t come this far over the course of the last couple months, as the new captain, to be rendered useless, just because he misses Bokuto-san. All Akaashi should be thinking about is what the next move should be, how best to utilize Hinata.

Hinata seems momentarily startled as Akaashi’s attacks become sharper, more precise, but he syncs up easily. He makes his own choices, based off of Akaashi’s plays, on how best to avoid their lanky opponents’ blocks, and they start racking up points. Pride blooms in Akaashi’s chest, even though Hinata is not his underclassman, and not even someone he contacts regularly. He, once again, feels the urge to show off to Bokuto-san, to subtly tilt his head at Hinata, a wordless _did you see that?_ But Akaashi turns halfway, and Bokuto-san’s not there. It’s Akaashi and Hinata on this side of the court, not Akaashi and Hinata and Bokuto.

The game goes on long enough that they don’t have time to play another round, especially once the bickering over teams starts up again. (Hinata gloats over the shorter team winning, and that pisses both Lev and Tsukki off, which they show in their own unique ways.)

Akaashi lingers in the gym to be the responsible one and tidy up. He’s hyper-focused on the task, which explains why he almost jumps out of his skin when—

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Hinata asks, out of nowhere. Akaashi turns around, picks up the nets that he’s dropped and puts them away properly. Lev and Tsukki are long gone. “That the senpai aren’t here anymore, I mean.”

“Yes,” Akaashi says, and he moves to turn off the lights now that the gym’s all tidied-up. Hinata trails behind Akaashi.

“I sometimes expect Daichi-san to be there to receive a tricky ball out of nowhere, like _BAM!_ Or Asahi-san to just, _POW,_ spike the ball, you know?” Hinata’s pace quickens as he rambles, content to continue despite Akaashi’s lack of response. “I never had people to rely on before, in middle school, so it’s weird that they’re all gone now.” Hinata slows down, then stops completely. Everything about him seems to still, and the lamplight casts most of his face in shadow, altering the cheerful lines of his face. Akaashi stops, too, and stares; like this, Hinata resembles Bokuto-san, at his most focused. “We practiced so much, until I wanted to throw up, but it wasn’t enough for Interhigh.” Hinata shrugs, then, eyes turned towards the moonless sky. “We still— _I_ still—have so much more to learn.”

Silence, strangely comfortable, except for the sounds of nature all around them. Then, like a switch has been flipped, Hinata perks up. “Ah, I didn’t mean to just dump all that on you, Akaashi-san! It’s just, I thought you might relate to it! Not that I was trying to presume or anything.” Hinata sets off running. “Anyway, I’m gonna go eat now. Dinner!”

 _I know exactly how you feel,_ Akaashi doesn’t say, because Hinata’s already a speck in the distance. Instead, Akaashi stays where he is, looking back to take in the darkened windows, locked doors, of the third gym. Cold, uninviting. It’s only the first night of training camp, but Akaashi already knows that he’s not enjoying it as much as he used to. There was something special about being here with Bokuto-san. A joyful atmosphere, unique to him.

Akaashi shivers. It’s cold out, in only a t-shirt and shorts. He hurries to the dining area and sits alone. Almost no one is there, except for Hinata and Lev. They’re lively, but not in the way that Akaashi craves.

It’s bad table manners, but Akaashi brings out his phone to text Bokuto-san, who responds almost instantly.

It brings a smile to Akaashi’s face, but there’s no one around to point it out, or the abnormal redness of his cheeks.

* * *

_MERRY CHROSTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!! MISS YOU LOTS <33333_

Merry Christmas, Bokuto-san.

<3

_!!!!!!!!! LETS CALL LATER_

\--

Happy New Year, Bokuto-san.

_HAPPY NRW YEAR!! WIDH ICOULD GO BSCK D:_

Ah, I see. Please take care of yourself, then.

_I WILL!!! EXCITED FOR NATOONALS???_

Yes, of course. I have exams first, though.

_!!! TODAI, RIGHT?? GOOD LCUK!!!!!!!!_

  
  


* * *

Fukurodani goes further than they did in the Interhigh, but they fall short of center-court. Akaashi dived for that final ball, arm outstretched, but it still came down, the damning nail in Fukurodani’s coffin. The others cry desperately, but Akaashi is empty of tears. His calmness is not the same as Bokuto-san’s was. Bokuto-san was staring far into the future, at the endless possibilities in front of him; Akaashi is standing at the end of the road. This is the end of his volleyball journey.

Others go further, and claim victory. Akaashi’s Fukurodani stops here.

(When Akaashi mentions this to Bokuto-san, later that night, adding that they did better with Bokuto-san as captain, Bokuto-san’s face screws up, like that time Kuroo-san dared him into eating a ghost pepper without making any sound and he was trying but failing. Akaashi is struck by the urge to smooth out the wrinkles on his face.

Finally, Bokuto-san stops grimacing, but his expression is just as passionate because Bokuto-san feels with his whole entire being.

“Don’t say such things, Akaashi,” Bokuto-san grumbles. He’s not even whining. “You did great!” A pause, then, and Akaashi meets Bokuto-san’s yellow-gold eyes: piercing, even through the graininess of the screen. Akaashi feels flayed under Bokuto-san’s gaze, his heart exposed. How much more intense would it feel, in person?

“Why can’t you see yourself like I see you?” he asks, his voice dripping with sweetness.

Akaashi’s heart aches. Says the one who can’t even see how bright he shines. “I could say the same to you, Bokuto-san.” 

“So smooth, Akaashi!” Bokuto-san swoons, dramatic. The moment is broken, but Akaashi doesn’t cling to it; he laughs, helplessly fond, and Bokuto-san delights in it. “Hey, hey, hey, made you laugh!”

 _You always do,_ Akaashi doesn’t say.)

* * *

Even a good while after Fukurodani’s loss at Nationals, Akaashi hasn’t gotten over the strangeness of heading home while it’s bright outside. The sun beats down on his head as he walks, and all he has left to worry about is finishing off high school on a proper note. No underclassmen to guide and corral—that’s all Onaga’s responsibility now—and no more stressing about universities, he’s gotten into his first choice.

Akaashi is essentially right outside his house when he pauses. Squints and rubs his eyes. He must be hallucinating because it’s nowhere near nighttime, and he can clearly see what looks like Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san hiding badly behind a tree.

“Hey, do you think he’s looking over here?” Bokuto-san whispers, but Akaashi hears it loud and clear.

“Dude, he’s looking straight at us.” Akaashi knows Kuroo-san is capable of whispering, so he’s not even trying to keep his voice down.

“Awww, but I wanted to surprise him.”

Akaashi starts walking towards them. They maintain their position behind the tree. Or, rather, Kuroo-san tries to step fully out of its shadow, but Bokuto-san manhandles him back in place.

“Bokuto! Akaashi would have to be blind not to see us.”

“But he didn’t even notice us last time, and we were standing on his doorstep!” Bokuto-san protests. “You must be messing with our stealth vibes, damn cats.”

“What?” Kuroo-san squawks, very attractively. They start to wrestle with each other, and Kuroo-san is losing, badly. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, bro, but there is no way you and your massive shoulders, and the other Fukurodani guys combined have better stealth vibes—”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi interrupts, and Bokuto-san breaks away from Kuroo-san to leap at Akaashi. His embrace is warm, and with his sturdy arms locked around Akaashi’s neck, he can feel Bokuto-san’s steady heartbeat. Akaashi wants to smile, but he also has the clearest view of Kuroo-san letting out a sigh, and Akaashi swears he hears him say, “Ah, young love.”

“Surprise, Akaashi! Did you miss me?” Bokuto-san pulls back, just barely, to look at Akaashi’s face. His eyes, molten gold, are mesmerizing, especially from this close, and his arms are thick lines of heat across Akaashi’s neck.

“Of course, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto-san’s smile is so blinding that Akaashi (almost) forgets that Kuroo-san is still there.

Akaashi should really be doing his homework, but as Kuroo-san hypocritically says, “Live a little, Akaashi!” Bokuto-san’s visits are far too rare, and there is an actual plan this time because Kuroo-san coerced Kenma into joining as well.

They meet Kenma at their usual café, and he’s tucked himself into a table in the far corner, away from most of the hustle and bustle.

“I’ll order for you, Akaashi,” Bokuto-san declares, and he leaves no room for argument because he’s already gone off to line up at the cash register. Akaashi heads over to Kenma, Kuroo-san in tow because “Bokuto will order for me. Probably.”

The moment they sit down, Kuroo-san starts questioning Akaashi, as Kenma warned he would. It’s been a peaceful couple of months, free from Kuroo-san’s pestering, since he was so busy. “So,” Kuroo-san starts, steepling his hands, “you and Bokuto. Are you dating?”

“Stop being nosy, Kuro.” Kenma doesn’t look up from his game, but he’s glaring at the screen now.

Kuroo-san turns to Kenma. “No, no, this is of the utmost importance.” He looks back at Akaashi, expression severe. “For the Bro Code, you understand.”

Akaashi sighs. “Are you lacking excitement in your love life, Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo-san sputters while Kenma snickers.

“Hey, Kenma! Stop laughing!”

Kenma looks Kuroo-san in the face and says, stone-cold, “You deserved that.”

Kuroo-san opens his mouth to unleash what is most likely a lame retort when Bokuto-san appears, slamming three orders onto the table with his customary “hey, hey, hey!”

Thankfully, Bokuto-san’s presence steers the conversation in a different direction.

“Akaashi’s going to Todai,” Bokuto-san brags, but it should only really be news to Kuroo-san. He, however, seems long-suffering instead of surprised. “My friends are all so smart!” Then, with a sly smile, he adds, “But Todai’s ranked higher than Waseda, isn’t it?”

That starts an argument between Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san, where Kuroo-san insists that the TSU Ranking has flaws, and Bokuto-san doesn’t care. Kenma looks up from his game and meets Akaashi’s eyes; they share a knowing look. The enthusiastic arguing is nostalgic, especially since they have responsibilities now that keep them from meeting up all together as often.

Bokuto-san leaves the earliest because he has to get back to Osaka, and Kenma ends up ditching because it’s nearing the time for his stream. That leaves Akaashi and Kuroo-san alone; Akaashi is tempted to just leave when Kuroo-san starts talking.

“Is it that you don’t like Bokuto?” he asks, and Akaashi can’t find it in himself to lie.

“I do like him,” and Akaashi pauses. “I know he likes me, as well, without you implying things, Kuroo-san.”

Kuroo-san’s expression screams confusion. “But you aren’t dating?”

They text daily, they call often, and they video call when they can. Bokuto-san visits rarely, but he always likes to take Akaashi out somewhere, even if it’s with one of their friends. Akaashi spends way too much time admiring the gold rose Bokuto-san got him. But— 

“No. At least, not yet.” With a silent apology to Bokuto-san, Akaashi gives Kuroo-san a brief explanation of Bokuto-san’s not-confession. 

Kuroo-san’s face cycles through a number of emotions before he settles on what resembles shame, for Kuroo-san. “So you guys just let me make a fool of myself?” He laughs, incredulous, before he starts muttering under his breath, like a cartoon villain. “Bokuto better give you the best confession _ever._ I can’t believe he texts me about how pretty you are, but not about how he _sort of confessed._ ”

The most important thing Akaashi gleans from the entire conversation with Kuroo-san is this: Bokuto-san frequently texts his best friend about everything Akaashi-related. Kuroo-san does not feel the need to make an inane comment, for once, and for that Akaashi is grateful.

_AAAAH AAIAAHSI KUROJ IS GONNA JILL ME_

Bokuto-san?

* * *

Graduation, this time around, is less bittersweet. Bokuto-san does not have the time to swing by Tokyo and voice his congratulations, but then he already did so during his surprise visit.

So graduation is really the first step Akaashi is taking towards his own dreams, the ones separate from Bokuto-san. He’s not being left behind anymore; he’s catching up.

* * *

On the commute home from Todai, Akaashi learns something about the MSBY Black Jackals before everyone else gets to:

“Akaashi!” Bokuto-san crows the moment Akaashi picks up. “You won’t believe who I met today.” Without waiting for a reply, he says, “Tsum-Tsum!” Akaashi has no idea who Bokuto-san is referring to, so he says nothing still. “From Inarizaki. Man, I wish we could've played against them.”

Ah, Miya Atsumu. A genius setter; no one doubted that he’d be going pro straight out of high school, it was just a matter of where.

“I see.”

“Oh, man, he’s great! Do you know what the first thing he said to me was? He was all ‘don’t you dare say my tosses are bad because you couldn’t score’—it was so cool!”

“I…see.”

“But I said the coolest thing back! I was all ‘of course, I’m an _ordinary_ ace.’ Isn’t that just the coolest answer, Akaashi?”

“Of course, Bokuto-san.”

“Man, but when we started practice—” Bokuto-san whistles. “—his tosses are _good._ No wonder why they were always the favorites to beat Itachiyama.” A pause. “Your tosses are still gonna be the best, though!”

Akaashi laughs. “Thank you, Bokuto-san.” The worst part is, Bokuto-san isn’t even saying it to be nice; he really, truly believes that Akaashi’s tosses are the best, even when he’s playing with monsters in the pros.

* * *

Even though they go to different universities, Akaashi finds himself spending more and more time with Kuroo-san. Both of them find themselves with an intensified workload: Akaashi because he’s still in his second year, and Kuroo-san because he’s piled more work on himself to cope with giving up the volleyball club.

(“It’s not my _life,_ ” Kuroo-san insists, with an overly casual shrug, as if they haven’t talked about their post-university plans, and finding a job with the JVA, aka Japanese _Volleyball_ Association, is _not_ devoting your life to volleyball, just in a different way from being a player.

Akaashi only hums, noncommittal, but Kuroo-san never finds that satisfactory.

“It’s not, why don’t you believe me?”)

It’s pleasant to sit in silence and work with someone else, and Kuroo-san excels in the sciences. Kuroo-san is also much better company, now that he doesn’t bring up confessing to Bokuto-san in every conversation when they meet up. (He still does sometimes, of course, so Akaashi has gradually trained him out of it by asking, “How is it, studying at the 2nd best Japanese university?” This, as always, sparks a debate on the legitimacy of the ranking system, which is a conversation topic Akaashi prefers greatly.)

And Kuroo-san understands the emptiness that Akaashi still feels sometimes, when he expects Bokuto-san to be right next to him, and he’s not. Kenma doesn’t join them, much, not when he’s suddenly got multiple responsibilities to attend to, as an increasingly popular Internet figure.

Akaashi sometimes feels lost when he sees Kenma’s streams, the increasing number of adoring fans, but he can understand how much weirder that must be for Kuroo-san because the effect is more pronounced when Akaashi catches glimpses of Bokuto-san on TV.

 _That’s my—our—ace,_ he wants everyone to know, but the rest of the world doesn’t see what he sees in Bokuto-san yet.

* * *

The first sign is this: there’s radio silence from Bokuto-san in the group chat, as the Olympics draw closer and closer. The confirmation is this: the roster for the Japan Men's National Volleyball Team is released, and Bokuto-san is not on there. Three years of effort, and yet. Miya Atsumu is there; hell, _Kageyama,_ is there. But Bokuto-san is not.

It’s not a surprise to Akaashi, then, when Bokuto-san shows up on his doorstep on that first day. It’s a heart-wrenchingly familiar sight: shoulders hunched, head down. Akaashi can see the boy who crawled underneath a table to sulk in the man before him.

Originally, Akaashi had been planning to get together with the other Fukurodani alumni, watch Bokuto-san together because there was no question that Bokuto-san would be on TV… But now, those plans have been scrapped. They huddle on the couch together, Bokuto-san with his knees pulled up to his chest, a blanket over the both of them.

Kageyama, Miya Atsumu, Ushijima, all monsters of their generation. Bokuto-san tracks their movements on the screen, his eyes darting around, and that twisted expression on his face. It’s envy, it’s _I want that for myself,_ it’s an unfathomable pit of hunger.

So it’s not a surprise to Akaashi either, when they’ve finished watching the match, that Bokuto-san asks, his voice rough despite the lack of tears, “Can you toss a little for me, Akaashi?”

It’s been almost two years since Akaashi has played volleyball competitively, and Bokuto-san has practiced with Miya Atsumu during that time, but one look and Akaashi is convinced.

“Of course, Bokuto-san.”

It’s like they’re back in high school again, going until their shirts are soaked with sweat and they can’t move anymore. And of course, even at his lowest, Bokuto-san turns to Akaashi and says, “Thanks, Akaashi. Your tosses are the best.”

 _Why are you thanking me? I should be thanking you, for entrusting me with your heart._ Akaashi doesn’t say any of that, though; he just brushes Bokuto-san’s hair out of his eyes. And later, when they return to his apartment, he finds clothes for Bokuto-san to borrow and lets Bokuto-san share his bed. (They both lie awake until the early morning light filters into the room, but Bokuto-san’s steady heartbeat is a relaxing constant.)

And in the morning, Bokuto-san will go back to Osaka, heart somewhat lighter, and train and train and train.

* * *

  
  


_aaahhh forgot to ask!!_

_what are you doing after todai??_

I have an interview with Kodansha. 

I’m hoping to be an editor for one of their literary magazines.

_:ooooo sounds cool!!_

_GOOD LUCK!!!!!_

\--

_HOW WAS IT??_

I got an offer.

_YAY!! :DD_

_I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT, AKAASHI_ 🥳

It was for their shonen manga department.

_DD:_

\--

Akaashi doesn’t get a call from Bokuto-san because he shows up outside Akaashi’s apartment that night, out of breath, with a feel-better-soon box from Onigiri Miya. It’s stupid and irresponsible, and Akaashi is terribly, terribly fond.

* * *

At work, Akaashi is usually diligent. “Earnest, hard-working,” his superiors would say, because he’s trying to get transferred, and that won’t happen if he doesn’t prove himself.

But Bokuto-san and Miya Atsumu (who Akaashi has decided is the lesser Miya twin, by virtue of Miya Osamu being the brains behind Onigiri Miya) are trending. There’s a particular picture being passed around, taken mid-moment: Bokuto-san, laughing his heart out, is the center of the photo, and Miya Atsumu is sprawled out on the floor, the toppled over chair obscuring most of his figure. There’s the slightest hint of the many fans lined up in front of the two, at the very corner of the photo.

Akaashi finds himself staring at Bokuto-san’s smile, memorialized. Whoever captioned the photo is equally enamored by Bokuto-san because it reads “Bokuto Koutarou from the MSBY Black Jackals is THE cutest!! Just look at that smile!!” Akaashi likes the photo, then turns back to his work.

The rest of the day drags, with his mind so scattered. Even Udai-san comments on it, when Akaashi goes to check on the progress of his latest chapter.

Naturally, Akaashi calls Bokuto-san as soon as he gets on the train. He doesn’t like calling first because he doesn’t like to take away from Bokuto-san’s practice time, which constitutes all sorts of odd hours (probably against their coach’s recommendations), but the sheer exuberance when Bokuto-san picks up makes Akaashi contemplate being the one to initiate calls more often.

“Akaashi, good timing! The funniest thing happened today,” he shouts, and Akaashi can hear Miya Atsumu snapping at Bokuto-san to be quieter in the background.

“I saw pictures,” Akaashi says. Bokuto-san bursts out laughing. Akaashi shifts away from the businessman on his right whose disgruntled face tells Akaashi he can hear Bokuto-san.

“Did you get to see Tsum-Tsum’s face? It was hilarious!”

“No, what happened exactly?”

“There was this _gigantic_ spider that landed in front of him, and he screamed so hard, he fell over! I killed it, of course,” Bokuto-san says, and Akaashi can picture the exact smile Bokuto-san would be sporting.

The train gets to Akaashi’s stop, and he squeezes his way out. “Good job, Bokuto-san.”

“Thanks!” A pause. “I’ll call you back later, okay, Akaashi? Gotta go cheer up Tsum-Tsum.” He hangs up, like that, by the time Akaashi steps outside.

It’s chilly.

* * *

_AKKAASHI YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHO JOINED_

Sakusa Kiyoomi?

_OMI-OMI!!!!_

_AWW AKAASHI I WANTED TO TELL YOU FIRST_

The MSBY Black Jackals have been stating their intention to recruit him for a while.

_DD:_

_ANYWAY HAVE YOU EVER SEEN OMI OMI STRECTHING HIS WROSTD??_

_IT’S SO COOOLL!!!_

No, I don’t believe I have.

_[Attached: a shaky video of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s wrist stretches]_

Ah. I see. Fascinating.

_ALSO HE SAID THE SAME THING AS TSUN TSUM_

_REMMEBER?_

_WHEN HE FIRST JOINED_

To not blame his tosses when your spikes are blocked?

_YEA SOMETHING LIKE THAT_

_CANT BELIEVE HE STILL REMEMBERS_

_ITS BEEN FOREVER_

_HE DOESN’T TRUST THAT IM AN ORDINARY ACE NOW :(((_

He will. I believe in you, Bokuto-san.

_< 333_

\--

_AHHHHH YOULL NEVER GUESS WHO JOINED_

Who?

_ITS HINATA!!! MY DISCIPLE!!!_

_HE CAME BACK FROM BRAZIL_

_HES SO GOOD NOW JUST WAIT FOR THE SEASON TO START_

I see. I’m excited to see your team’s progress.

_I KNOW RIGHT??_

_UGHH AND OMI OMI BROUGHT UP HIGH SCHOOL STUFF AGAIN_

_HINATAS ANSWER WAS SO COOL THO_

_BOKUTO-SENPAI APPROVED_

\--

Bokuto-san.

_AKAAAASHI_

_YOUR MAGAZINES GONNA COME INTERVIEW ME???_

Yes.

_ARE YOU COMING??_

_WAIT!! WERE YOU THE ONE WHO TOLD THEM TO INTERVIEW ME??_

No, I’m sorry. I have work that day.

I didn’t need to. You earned the interview through your own hard work, Bokuto-san.

_AAAAAH_

_AKAAASHI BE GENTLE WITH MY HEART_

<3

_!!! <33333_

\--

Actually, change of plans. I will be the one coming to interview you.

_YAYYY_

_DOES THIS MEAN YOURE WATCHING THE MATCH_

Yes.

_!! OK!! WATCH ME_

_ILL MAKE YOU PROUD_

I look forward to it.

  
  


* * *

And Bokuto-san doesn’t disappoint. None of the players on either side do, but in the end, the MSBY Black Jackals steal the win from under the Schweiden Adlers. It was a close match, and the one who scored the final point, thanks to Hinata’s excellent decoy skills, was Bokuto-san.

Amidst the chaos erupting on the court, in the stands, Akaashi meets Bokuto-san’s eyes. He’s glowing under the stadium lights, and it’s not just the sheen of sweat. Akaashi is vaguely aware of his heart pounding, underneath the deafening roars. It’s so different, in person. Akaashi regrets not being able to see Bokuto-san’s games in person before, that their schedules never aligned, not until now. 

He’s so focused on Bokuto-san, the way he seems to only have eyes for Akaashi, that he almost misses Udai-san changing their plans last-minute.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto-san yells, waving. Akaashi heads down, closer to the court, one person in a sea of many, clamoring to interact with their favorite players. Bokuto-san leans over the divide and lifts Akaashi into a hug. Bokuto-san is still sweaty from the match, but Akaashi holds onto him anyway; it feels strong, sturdy.

“Bokuto-san,” he starts because this is it. This is _the_ moment Bokuto-san, and by extension, Akaashi, has been waiting for this whole time because if not now, _then_ when—

“Um, excuse me, but can we get an autograph?”

It’s a young girl, stars in her eyes. Akaashi can’t even fault her for ruining the moment because he’d want one from Bokuto-san, too, if he was a stranger. Any chance for a fraction of Bokuto-san’s attention because it’s addicting in its intensity.

“Of course!” Bokuto-san lets Akaashi go to sign an autograph for the girl, but waves off other requests because: “Sorry, come find me later! I’ve got an interview with Akaashi here.”

Akaashi is floored. He can’t believe he almost forgot about that.

After the interview, Bokuto-san flits around, a social butterfly, talking with teammates, friends, and fans. Udai-san is heading back to Tokyo already, but Akaashi still intends to stay in Sendai for the night. For now, he hangs back, content to see Bokuto-san in his element: relentlessly charming people with his personality.

In the end, Akaashi still goes out after the match, but with Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san and Daichi-san instead. It’s a strange group, composed of four former captains, three from the same year. They’ve clearly grown: they’re eating in a dimly-lit restaurant, being served alcoholic drinks. Daichi-san’s hair has grown, and Kuroo-san is wearing his _suit._ Akaashi himself has glasses now, and even Bokuto-san’s hair is less wild. Still, sitting with these three reminds Akaashi of high school, of days spent playing volleyball.

Bokuto-san doesn’t drink, smiling warmly at Akaashi, but the other two don’t notice, as wrapped up in competition as they are, drinking themselves stupid.

Akaashi is content to remain in the haziness of this moment, picking at dishes until he’s full. Until they finally cut Kuroo-san and Daichi-san off, and send them off safely.

After, when there’s no one else left but them, Bokuto-san, unbothered by the slight chill, slips Akaashi his jacket. Then, he pulls Akaashi close.

“Akaashi,” he says, the stars glowing in his eyes, bright under the night sky, like he’s staring at the most precious treasure in the universe.

“Keiji.”

Bokuto-san blinks, and he’s so expressive, Keiji can read the confusion rippling across the furrow of his brows. Bokuto-san tilts his head, and the confusion seems to clear, like the cloudless night sky. “Keiji,” he whispers, reverent. A soft smile curls on his lips, shy, a gentler version of his usual boisterous self. “Keiji,” he repeats, and the smile grows. “Keiji, Keiji, Keiji,” he chants, like he’s part of a cult, and the one he worships, Keiji himself, and he shows no signs of stopping.

Keiji grabs at Bokuto-san’s hands, holds them at the wrist. “Bokuto-san—”

“Koutarou,” Bokuto-san— _Koutarou_ —corrects, laughter hidden in his eyes, his magnetic smile.

“ _Koutarou,_ will you be mine?” For a moment, all Keiji can hear is the tinkling of a wind chime, the steady pounding of his own heart, Koutarou’s responding pulse underneath his fingertips. Then, laughter from Koutarou, enchanting. If Keiji heard only that forever, he thinks he’d be content.

“You stole my line, Keiji.” Koutarou leans forward until their foreheads touch, until the space between them dwindles into nothingness. He tries to pout, but he’s smiling too much for it to work. “I was supposed to say that.” His breath, warm, ghosts over his face. It would be unpleasant, from anyone but Koutarou. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to say that.”

“I know, but your answer?”

There’s that laugh again: soft, melodic, sweet. No one else is privy to this version of it. “You really need one?”

“You’ve kept me waiting for this long,” Keiji says, “so yes, I’d like an answer.” There’s a pause, during which Keiji starts to count his heartbeats: one, two, three. Koutarou's still not responding, and Keiji leans back enough to see the most adorable furrow in his brow appearing.

“I forgot what you asked,” he admits, and Keiji laughs, helplessly. “No, stop laughing, Keiji! I wanted to give the best answer! Like you said, you waited this long!”

“How about an ordinary one, for an ordinary ace?” Keiji suggests and still can’t help his smile.

“I’m all yours,” is what Koutarou decides on, and Keiji smiles wider; it’s a proper answer to his question, after all. He expected no less. Koutarou fiddles with a button on Keiji’s suit. “You know I’ve always been yours, Keiji. I’ll always be yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

* * *

Summer, 2021. Tokyo. Keiji attends only one out of many games Japan plays because his work for _Gunzou_ is demanding, requires more from him than when he was editor for one of Kodansha’s weekly shonen magazines. Even so, he wouldn’t miss the sight for the world.

Koutarou bounds onto the court with the rest of his teammates, and the cheers are deafening. Koutarou waves at the crowd, but his eyes are on Keiji.

 _Watch me,_ they say.

_Always._

**Author's Note:**

> and thus concludes my first haikyuu fic, actual attempt at ship fic, and 10k+ fic! i wasn't actually an avid bokuaka shipper, but their relationship in canon is just *chef's kiss* & this has probably been done before, but i hope i did them justice lol
> 
> somewhat informational explanations 
>   * In case you don't remember (because you did not scour the Fukurodani-centric chapters like I did), Suzumeoka is the other high school Akaashi mentioned he was considering, other than Fukurodani, of course!
>   * A _gakuran_ is a style of Japanese school uniforms (think Karasuno & part of the reason why Nishinoya went there LOL), but apparently, Fukurodani's school uniform is blazers! There's a tradition, which you might be familiar with if you've seen other school-centric anime, where you give the second button of your uniform to the person you like. Apparently, [this tradition is getting less common, partly because of the switch from _gakuran_ to blazers.](https://sojapan.jp/2016/04/graduation-graduation-confessions-second-button/)
>   * Why is Bokuto in Osaka? Well, the MSBY Black Jackals are based on the Panasonic Panthers, who are based in Osaka in real life.
>   * Japanese high school students take test(s) to enter university. The big one is mid-January, from what I gathered.
>   * The University of Tokyo, aka Todai, is one of the most prestigious universities in Japan, if not _the_ most prestigious. Waseda, a private university in Tokyo, is highly-ranked as well.
>   * TSU (Truly Strong Universities) Ranking: as the name might suggest, it's a ranking of Japan's top 100 universities. In 2015-2016, Todai was ranked 1st and Waseda 2nd. As mentioned in the fic, there are criticisms of this ranking.
>   * Kodansha is a publishing company in Tokyo! In fact, it's the largest publishing company in Japan. Gunzou is one of their literary magazines. 
>   * A majority (?) of the fic is during Akaashi's 3rd year; did a lot of skipping around during later parts of the time skip, as should be indicated by the spacing (more space = more time). It fit nicer for what I wanted to do.
> 
miscellaneous things bc i struggle to shut up 
>   * title is taken from Dua Lipa's "Break My Heart"; it's a pretty catchy song, but the vibes definitely do not match w/ the fic lol
>   * i was actually aiming for 5k, which i didn't think i'd reach, but...clearly...
>   * here's the [gold](https://ik.imagekit.io/hs/wp-content/uploads/24K-Gold-Eternity-Rose-4.jpg) and [galaxy](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0073/6093/8039/products/GalaxyRoseImage_800x.jpg?v=1585755986) roses. personally think the galaxy ones are wayyy prettier, but i think bokuto would go for tacky LOL. also now my ads are all these lil enchanted rose things
>   * i chose waseda for kuroo bc i stumbled upon a list of past hires on the jva website; had him give up volleyball bc apparently balancing clubs & studies IS a concern for japanese uni students
>   * i wouldn't say these are necessarily my headcanons for what happened during the time skip; they're just what worked out narratively
>   * things i did while writing this fic: had an actual awkward 'how do you know youre in love' convo for the Authenticity; stopped watching jojos pt5 so as to not ruin the ~vibes~; prob made google think i want to study abroad in japan now; killed some spiders; typed all bokuto's texts myself on my phone for the Authenticity, as well 
>   * some scrapped scenes: brokuroo college shenanigans (my desire to see miya atsumu, on his very first DAY w/ the MSBY Black Jackals, being aggressive to bokuto who has been in the pro scene _longer_ won out); akaashi experiencing onigiri miya for the first time (didn't fit narratively); akaashi watching bokuto in rio w/ the other fukurodani members (changed my mind); bokuto in quarantine bc furudate has written the coronavirus into being canon (didn't fit narratively); more kuroo being annoying to akaashi (changed my mind); a fukunaga cameo :( (bc i changed my mind about the prior thing & didn't fit narratively anymore); i need you to know though that akaashi & fukunaga DID cross paths before akaashi's successful job interview & akaashi is all 'huh, he's like a maneki-neko')
> 

> 
> EDIT 8/8/20: since my friend seemed to like it, i have posted a sampling of my scrapped scenes/parts of my outlining (all...of questionable quality 'cause uh, they got scrapped) on my [tumblr](https://serpentineshadows.tumblr.com/post/625937188225482752/a-taste-of-my-writing-process-scrapped-scenes) (yes i have a tumblr.... its for screaming into the void + reblogging pretty art)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [nya~](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567921) by [GodIsDad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodIsDad/pseuds/GodIsDad)




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